


Tell Me Why I Don't Like Fridays

by Tina0609



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Birthdays, Difficulties, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fridays, Love, Sequel, Support, Tiniest bit of smut, doubts, failed auditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29540847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: Almost one year after graduating from RADA, Carla Cookson's career doesn't look that promising. And now it's her birthday on her once favourite day of the week, and her boyfriend Tom Hiddleston tries to make it a good one for her.
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Tell Me Why I Don't Like Fridays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Finchyxpanic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finchyxpanic/gifts).



> This is a sequel to Friday's I'm In Love and also a birthday present to the lovely lovely Michelle!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19404502

Carla Cookson hated Fridays. That hadn’t always been the case, but the last few months hadn’t been easy on her, and not even the beginning of a weekend could get her out her funk.

You see, she loved being an actress, and she loved to be on the stage for a play. That was in theory of course. Because to be on stage one had to be cast.

Carla didn’t even have an idea of what she was doing wrong, but it had to be something, because why else was she only considered to be an understudy for actresses that didn’t fall ill anyway – not that she’d wish that on anyone – or got the role as the third girl someone met in the supermarket? Where was the big career the people at RADA had told them about almost a year ago at their graduation? People like Tom.

Speaking of the devil. “It’s your birthday, Carla. It’s the weekend. Cheer up for me?” he asked from her right side in the car. They were driving... Somewhere. A fitting or something. Bobby was in the back, dozing, Tom wanted to take him for a walk later. And yes, it was her birthday and it was a Friday. But she couldn’t make herself care for either.

“Tom, you’re taking me to some stupid fitting on my stupid birthday on a fucking Friday,” she said. “I’d have been happy to just stay in bed.” Preferably all day.

“With me?”

She rolled her eyes, not even glancing at him and the stupid grin she was sure he had on his face.

“Look,” she sighed. “I’m not in the best mood and no good company, okay? Can we just be quiet, before we’re going to head straight into a fight?”

“Oh, we can,” he answered. “But you’ll find I love to spend my time with you before you and I will both be busy again. And I want to be with you on your birthday and on any other day of the year.” Okay, he could be smooth. Who was she kidding? It was annoying sometimes, but she did feel loved. Even if she didn’t like herself a lot these days. “Plus, we’re in the middle of nowhere, I’d rather not leave you here. Mum would be mad at me.”

“Oh, haha.” She paused, going through the things he’d said again. “And you’ll be busy. At this point I’ll maybe be busy in the chippy, but not much else.”

“Carla, love,” he started, but she didn’t even look at him, when she interrupted.

“Don’t. It’s fine, I’ll get there.” However and whenever that would be. It didn’t help she was at least ten years older – mostly even more than that – than most of the other actors that tried to start their careers in movies, TV and on stage.

Actually, she’d been all over the place in London for auditions. TV and stage, no starring parts, but well written supporting roles, she’d love to get.

Carla needed to get them, in all honesty. She’d left the family business – albeit ‘just’ a chippy in the south of England – for this. And not just that. This was all she knew about. Or at least all she was interested in. All she ever imagined herself to do professionally. Sure, she could act on stage with a couple of fellow Shakespeare lovers for fun. She could be happy with that.

No. She couldn’t. It wasn’t about fame. Hell, she’d seen enough of the stress it sometimes gave Tom. It was about showing audiences what she was passionate about. Calling herself an actress. Not Tom Hiddleston’s girlfriend he met at RADA, when he mentored the students. How about him being Carla Cookson’s boyfriend instead, who’d known her before she was nominated for a bafta award. Or maybe an Olivier.

Ha. Yeah. For what? Woman with the most failed auditions under her belt? Three years at RADA for this? She was glad she’d at least met Tom during her time in London. Else she would call it the most useless three years of her life.

“Okay?”

Carla jerked, sat upright again and looked at him. She hadn’t heard a word he said. And she also had no idea where they were. Not London anymore.

“Huh?” she asked, a little dumbly, forcing herself not to blush. Tom fixed her with his look, glancing at the street every now and then. “Watch where we’re going, would you?”

“I know where we’re going. Do you have any idea about where we are? Where was your head there, hm?”

She squirmed. And now she was blushing after all. Tom was her boyfriend, yes, she loved to talk to him about really every topic on this planet. She loved him. Carla also knew she could tell him everything, that he loved her back, that he was there for her no matter what.

But honestly, when was the last time he’d failed at an audition? Ages ago. At this point it was Tom turning down offers instead of the other way round.

Carla watched him, wearing his sunglasses, now looking at the street. His hair was longer, his beard more than a stubble now, his skin slightly sun-kissed from the moments they’d spent in the park with Bobby or in the garden.

Well – she couldn’t help the frown – they had a lot of time they could spend together with her basically not working.

“Carla? Where are you now?”

She sighed, deeply. “I honestly don’t know, Tom. Where am I? I don’t have jobs, I only have failed auditions. I didn’t even hear from the last one—”

“Which isn’t a bad thing, because they didn’t turn you down, either.”

“I’m failing, Tom.”

“You’re not.” He reached over with one hand and linked their fingers, letting his hand rest on her thigh. “You got small parts, that’s a start. You’re getting around, directors and casting agents are slowly learning your name. You’ve been close so often, it’ll happen one day soon. And I could always...” He stopped, but Carla knew what he wanted to say.

“No,” she mumbled. “I don’t want you to talk to anyone. Promise me you won’t.” She squeezed his hand, picking on the skin of his wrist with her thumb and finger.

“I promise I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, and Carla looked out of the window again and closed her eyes, her head leaning against the glass.

“I’ll wake you when we’re there.”

* * *

She hadn’t really fallen asleep, so there wasn’t a need to wake her up. But it felt nice to just relax, close her eyes and feel Tom’s thumb stroking her hand and have his hand held firmly between hers.

So, she was surprised when Tom slowed down the car and she looked outside to see the seaside. A very familiar seaside.

“Tom?” she asked as she turned in her seat to look at him. Sheepish, hm.

“I’ve seen you closing yourself off the last couple of weeks. So I figured you needed the sea and your family,” he smiled.

And here they were. Cookson’s Fish and Chips in front of them, her family waving, the sound of chuckles drafting into the car. It was a sunny day, and Carla could see the various bags and cool boxes waiting to be taken down to the waterfront.

“Tom,” she choked out. “I—”

“I hope this is okay.”

She turned, still holding his hand, tears welled up in her eyes. “Are you kidding? This is more than okay. I’m so sorry I was so horrible to you and snappy and down. And then you go and do this for me.”

“I love you,” he smiled. “I’d do all of this every day for you, and I know times are a bit tough. Let’s have a day full of food and beer, family and friends?”

“I love you too. And yes, let’s.”

* * *

Tom smiled at Carla’s relaxed look as she carried the leftover cake from the car to the front door of his house, Bobby happily jumping along, almost making her stumble.

They’d had a lovely day with her family, a day Tom knew she’d needed. He understood she was feeling down, and it hurt him he couldn’t do more for her.

That wasn’t true. He could help her out, but he knew she didn’t want him to. She wanted to make it on her own, and Tom was sure she would eventually. Of course it was hard to see, knowing of her talent, her passion and her joy and seeing that she simply couldn’t show it on the screen or the stage. Yet.

He just hoped she wouldn’t lose the faith in herself.

“Tom, come in!” she shouted from inside. “I want to thank you for my presents.”

He chuckled to himself. She had enjoyed the beer and was a bit tipsy, the drive back home had definitely been more entertaining than he’d thought it would be. Tom blushed when he remembered where her hands had been.

“Coming!” he shouted back, closed the car and the front gate and made it inside. Almost inside, because he barely closed the door, locked it and turned around as he felt Carla’s lips on his and her body pressing him back against the wooden door he’d just closed.

He could easily turn this around, but he didn’t want to, and he knew Carla needed this. Having control over a situation, when all she could do at the moment was waiting for jobs to appear.

Also, he enjoyed the feeling of her hips against his, her breasts against his chest and her hands grabbing his hair a bit rougher than necessary. Tom pulled her body closer by her hips, bathing in the moan she made that had him hard instantly.

Bobby was running around their legs, barking, all excited, probably thinking there was something wrong, maybe them being attacked just from the sounds they made.

“Carla,” he chuckled against her as all she did was letting go of his mouth to nip at his throat instead. “Bobby will go crazy if we even shed a single piece of clothing here.”

“Ugh,” she groaned, but let go of him. She moved back, her hair dishevelled, her lips full and rosy and her breathing coming out in puffs. And then she smirked. “The kitchen table then?”

The laugh got stuck in Tom’s throat, when she winked and walked away from him backwards, disappearing into the mentioned room. And then he almost choked when her bra was thrown into the hallway.

“Okay.” He pushed himself off the door, followed Carla into the kitchen and then possibly lost all functioning brain cells seeing her sat on top of the table, skirt dangling from her fingers. He closed the kitchen door, shutting Bobby out and then moved.

They nipped on skin, moaned together, laughed together, groaned and sweat against each other, curses leaving them. Their movements made them breathless, their bodies pressed against each other, shedding clothes.

And then Carla’s phone rang loudly from the hallway.

“Fuck,” Tom groaned against her damp skin as Carla scrambled to get up. “Really now?”

“Sorry,” she breathed. “Sorry. But it’s the ringtone set for professional calls.”

Tom jerked and helped her get up, almost dragging her from the table, making her giggle and stumble to open the door.

“Go on then,” he hissed.

He watched Carla answer the phone from the doorway in just his boxers, his girlfriend walking around in her panties and nothing else, murmuring ‘yes’ in different variations. He could tell nothing from her face. But then she said ‘thank you so much’ and it didn’t have the usual disappointed ring to it.

She hung up.

She looked at him.

And then she squealed, making Tom and Bobby jump as she ran around the hallway, stomping on the wooden floor.

“I got it!” she laughed, stopped her movements and looked at Tom, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I got the part!”

She ran towards him, and Tom had no other option but hoisting her up in his arms, her legs wrapping around his hips. He twirled them both around, almost making himself topple over.

“You did it!” he breathed into her hair.

“Thank you,” she whispered, hands roaming along his shoulders and down his arms, her middle pressed tightly against him. “Thank you.” This time she murmured it into his ear.

Tom suppressed a sigh. “Whatever for, you did it on your own.”

“For believing in me,” Carla said against his lips. “And making me have a wonderful birthday on a wonderful Friday.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading.


End file.
